Wednesday, 9:37 a.m.
I am slathering plain cream cheese on the ass end of my onion bagel, saving the top half – with its perfectly crisped brown onion pieces – for last, when the VP of marketing appears in my doorway.
Her navy skirt suit and stern expression make her look both confrontational and attractive. I drop my bagel into its paper wrapper, knowing it will sit there until it reaches a lukewarm, undesirable temperature.
She offers a standard, “May I?” while touching the back of my Ivy League side chair before helping herself to the seat across from me.
Wednesday, 10:02 a.m.
“So, we’re clear about what’s on the table? I want to know that you can back me on this cost-benefit analysis before the board tries to throw, what I believe to be a very valid factor in this equation, into another bucket.”
I reiterate my support and exhale in relief that she’s backing towards the door when these words come out:
“Thanks, Frank. I’ll see you at the team-building workshop then.”
I lose my appetite.
In one, quick sweep of my left arm, the bagel and its cream cheese counterpart atop the parchment paper thud at the bottom of my waste basket.
Wednesday, 12:45 p.m.
The city’s growing homeless population sleeps on subway grates. The Dow is fluctuating like a Yo-Yo. We can’t agree on shutting down Guantanamo. My two-year-old nephew lisped the word ‘recession’ to me over the phone earlier today. In spite of it all, I’m two hours into a workshop learning that Together Everyone Achieves More.
A pudgy HR rep with loose curls is bubbling on about T.E.A.M. exercises, clutching an itinerary of events that will take hours off my life that I will never get back. We’ve already been subjected to a few mind-numbing icebreakers. Everyone in the room is wearing a name tag that reads: “Hello my name is:” and then a letter that is meant to identify a workplace personality. The ‘Es’ don’t like the ‘As.’ The ‘Ms’ are everybody’s best friend. The ‘Ts’ are routinely assholes and make everyone else in the office feel worthless and stupid.
“Where are all my Ts? Put your hands up high, you ornery Ts. Raise them up!” The HR rep is scooting around the front of the room waving her lumpy arm and smiling into a sea of dazed faces. Half of the room keeps their heads down in blackberry comas.
Wednesday, 2:00 p.m.
I manage to compile a small list of alternative acronyms for the purpose of team-building:
Touching Everyone All Morning
Terrible Excuse for A Manager
Today Each Asshole Meets
Too Erect Affects Meetings
Thin Ears Are Messy
Teaching Evil Animals Medicine
Wednesday, 2:12 p.m.
I hear a rustle about organizing a trust fall and decide the time has come for a discrete back-door exit. I think about heading back to my office, drawing the blinds and chopping out lines of cocaine onto the glass of my framed Master’s degree because the workshop has enlightened me. My education means nothing. I have been reduced to a single letter. Depressed and a little exhausted, I manage to escape the room and let the door softly click shut behind me. I start down the hall then stop and quickly jot down:
Team-building Encourages Another Massacre
